


We Are Kin (I Look to You, Please Bring Me Home)

by ArtsyDeath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Codependency, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Nesting, Obsessive Harry, Possessive Voldemort, Sane Tom Riddle, Selectively Mute Harry Potter, Self-Mutilation, Touch-Starved, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-11-04 09:56:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17896313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyDeath/pseuds/ArtsyDeath
Summary: "... didn't know where else to go."Tom finds himself with his nemesis living in his wardrobe, bemused and disturbed but also curious about the strange fate that ties them together.-Or: life has left them both just a bit broken (but it doesn't have to stay that way).





	1. An Unusual Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr prompt

Tom admits to himself that that one of the pleasantries he’d missed as a spirit were evenings like this.

Fire sparkling, spreading a sheen of warmth, the low murmur of conversation between Severus and Narcissa while young Draco and Lucius remained mostly silent save for the clack of chess pieces and the occasional word exchanged.

Even Nagini has been lulled to lazy relaxation, curled around him, body draped over his shoulders, head in his lap, giving him just enough space to support the spine of his book against his knee as he strokes her gently.

Back in the days, before Azkaban, Bellatrix would have been there as well – sprawled out in her sister’s lap, feet kicking, cheekiness in her tone – a dark sort of intensity in her lidded eyes as she looked upon him.

But Azkaban had left her restless, unable to remain still for long, her frustration and anger deep and gnawing with a volatile temper than flares and dies in screams and cackles and desperate sobs as she tears herself apart and Tom doesn’t know how to help her.

§ _You’re thinking about her again§_ Nagini hisses without looking at him, her gaze on the young Malfoy, enjoying the way he was getting increasingly tense under her observation. _§You should know now that sometimes there isn’t a way to make things right§_

 _§I have to try§_ he responds. _§I would not dishonour her loyalty by leaving her at the mercy of her mind§_

Nagini flicks her tail, jaw opening to respond when there’s a _crack_ followed by a sudden displacement of energy in the middle of the room.

Tom is the first to draw his wand, Nagini baring her fangs with a violent hiss at the cloying feeling that spreads over them.

Narcissa places herself in front of her son, Severus and Lucius spreading carefully out around it as it lashes out, something like a screech, a pulse of violence that concaves the carefully structured wards around the manor, threatening to crush them with a feral sort horror that _bleeds._

Tom furrows his brow as the magic curls around him, seeking, wanting, _begging._

“Lower the wards,” he says, stretching his hand out, watching in fascination as the magic twists around his hand, almost caressing his skin as Lucius and Narcissa exchange uneasy looks before grasping each other’s hands and raising their wands.

The wards falls and there’s a moment – a second of eerie silence – magic livid green and frozen around them in a zig-zag pattern that drifts almost surprised.

And then it all flares, drawing together into a large ball of energy that explodes out and something humanoid totters in its place, shields hastily thrown as Tom inhales and blows out a stream of air to rid of the wisps of smoke.

The girl stares at him, naked and shivering, pupils so wide that barely anything of the green of her eyes remain. There’s blood running from her nose, from between her legs, bruises dark and violent on her skin, scratches and scrapes and long jagged lines.

One arm dangles broken and twisted at her side, the other folded over her chest, grasping weakly at the shoulder as she breathes shallowly, fixated on him as she takes a wobbly step forward, ignoring young Malfoy’s shocked gasp of her name as Tom lets his shield fall, reaching out just in time to catch her as she staggers, ankle twisting beneath her.

He summons a blanket, sweeping it around her with one hand.

“… didn’t know where else to go,” she says weakly as he stares down at the girl prophesied to bring his end, a hand with two broken fingers coming up to grasp weakly at his shirt.

“ _That_ is damage caused under an extended amount of time,” Lucius observes grimly, placing a hand on Draco’s shoulder as he blanches.

“She’s supposed to be home at her relatives,” Severus says, eyes dark. “There’s been nothing about any disappearance.”

“Narcissa, Severus.” It’s spoken quietly, red eyes never wavering as he gently scoops her up and she immediately curls closer, eyes closing as he carries her away, deeper into the mansion.

He carries her the stairs to his own room where he gently places her down, brushing dark hair from her face, drugged green eyes opening to stare hazily up at him.

 _“Tom,”_ she whispers, the name falling thick and clumsy in her mouth as he stills in place, staring down at her with unfathomable eyes.

Severus appears with potions clinking in the pockets of his robes and Narcissa at his heels as he gently untangles her grip from his shirt, careful of her broken index and little-finger.

She makes a weak sound of protest but Narcissa hushes her gently, murmuring softly as she takes a place at her side, and Tom softly closes the door to the room behind him as he leaves 

-

§ _You’re worried for her§_ Nagini observes with a flick of her tail as he nurses his fire whisky, gaze absently resting on the page of his book without actually reading the words.

He lets out a sigh, closing it up and putting it aside. _§Why would she come to me?§_ he asks his Familiar, brushing his fingers down her scales. _§I’m her enemy. As far as she knows I want her dead but she was stubborn enough to challenge the wards of Malfoy Manor to get to me§_

It was actually a clever piece of magic – reaching for him, using their shared bond as a guiding point to appear before him. It was not a thing he was inclined to ever try himself but considering the state of her…

§ _Who would hurt her like that and how come Albus didn’t know?§_ he muses to himself, brow dipping down.  _§And if he did know and didn't do anything - what would be the reason for it?§_

Nagini hisses in amusement, knowing full well how much he despised mysteries.

It wasn’t just any student who went looking for the Chamber of Secrets, after all.

-

It soon becomes apparent that even with the physical wounds cleaned up and bandaged the wounds of the mind weren’t so easily scrubbed away.

Tom closes the door behind himself, watching as the girl stills in place, fingers pausing over the spines of his books as she turns towards him with eerie green intensity.

She doesn’t greet him, fingers twitching before lowering.

Truthfully, he doesn’t know quite what to make of her or what to do with her. She’s his enemy but she’d also sought him out in the midst of her misery and there were enough warning flags going up that he wasn’t inclined to just leave things be or even take the easy path out and simply kill her.

He’d been hasty once and it had cost him thirteen years of his life. Years spent existing like something less than what he was, akin to a parasite rather than a man and these days people looked at him and called him a _monster._

“Good evening.” He pulls his gloves off and places them aside on the table near the door. “Had a pleasant day?” he inquires, stepping inside, watching the way she automatically shifts with the movement, careful to keep a distance of three steps and never closer between them. “Narcissa said you barely ate and I haven’t had dinner yet. I’m having something sent up for us within the hour.”

Despite the distance she keeps she’d been adamant to stay in the room, getting aggressive and very close to hysterical the first time they’d attempted to remove her.

She’d made a nest, of sorts, in his wardrobe – cramming herself in among his cloaks, shirts and pants and socks and even underwear, things pulled down roughly from their hangers, pushed up and around her in a way that perturbed him.

Even now she’d changed out of the clothes Narcissa had brought for her, trading them for a pair of his slacks that barely clung to her hips despite the belt, the fabric pooling at her bare feet, the cuffs of his shirt dangling over her fingers, one of his more worn cloaks wrapped around her shoulders like a blanket.

He settles down in his chair, throwing his feet up and closing his eyes as he breathes out.

The day had been long, a meeting at the Ministry under disguise, an exchange for a rare book from a woman who’d demanded more than it was worth, sharp and level headed as she negotiated, and while he appreciated that sort of trait he preferred it in people working for him and she’d been adamant on staying neutral.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, drawing his fingers up and massaging at his temples, feeling the headache that had been building all day long.

Something pushes up against the hand on his thigh, a clink of a glass, and he slowly opens his eyes and stares at the glass of water slowly turning in place, supported by magic alone.

The girl has no wand and seventeen is far too young for a mastery of wandless magic but when he looks to her she looks barely bothered, head tilted from her place on the other side of his bed, arms folded up on it, chin on them as she watches him expectantly.

Her eyes slides to the glass and then back to him and it gives a demanding little nudge against his fingers and he slides his fingers around it, gripping it, and the magic disappears.

He raises an eyebrow at her and she sinks deeper until only her eyes are apparent over the edge of the bed, waiting.

“You’re not going to be happy until I drink it, will you?”

No response, not a flicker of movement.

He brushes his magic over it and, deeming it safe, he meets her eyes and takes a long drink – watching her as he swallows, lowering it once the last water had disappeared.

Done, he carefully stretches out his hand and, meeting her eyes, drops it.

But the glass doesn’t shatter, caught and deposited on the table by his gloves without as much as a twitch if her fingers.

-

“How would you describe her magical aptitude?”

Severus doesn’t glance up from his potion, stirring it carefully counter-clockwise while dropping slices of liver with rhythmic counting twitches of his index finger.

He doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about, a little furrow dipping at his brow as Tom hoists himself up on one of the tables, making sure not to pick one with fresh ingredients as he absently brushes a lint of dust from his knee.

“Average,” Severus says, slipping the last piece in and switching direction in his stirring. “In everything but Defence Against the Dark Arts where she excelled. I believe she finished her O.W.L.s with one of the highest grades in recorded history on that one, if the bragging Minerva did for months afterwards are to be believed. Can you hand me the roots – yes, thank you,” Severus speaks absently as the little flask nudges his hand and he grasps it, shaking out two lilac roots and dropping them into the dark blue potion with a tap of his wand to the spoon to keep stirring as he straightest out. “You are asking for a reason.” It is not a question.

Tom considers him, the man he’d become when he’d been nothing but a boy the first time he knelt to take his mark. A clever one, hassled by life and unfairness, but still only a boy.

He had always been fond of Severus, enough that he’d asked Lily Evans to step out of the way.

“It turns out,” he says carefully, turning his wand slowly with an air of nonchalance, “young Ms. Potter is quite proficient at wandless magic.”

Severus might as well have flinched for all that he startles, straightening up, grip tightening around his wand as he gives him a look of full attention. “That’s impossible.”

“Not only is it possible,” Tom says. “She showed a proficiency at it that is far beyond her age and skill. Wandless magic is not something one learns over a night – in the last century there has only been three cases of recorded uses, discounting accidental magic.”

Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald and Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And now Harry Lily Potter.

Severus gives him a wan look and Tom wonders about the bond between his spy and the Girl-Who-Lived not for the first time. But he is fond of Severus and at the end of the day the man is loyal to him so he allows the man his secrets, at least for now.

As long as it serves a means to an end and he’s not alone in solving the mystery that is only deepening.

-

Tom wakes up in the middle of the night, magic at his fingers tips even before he opens his eyes to find a pair of green ones just inches away from his own.

She doesn’t acknowledge his awakening with more than a flick of her eyes, her attention intent on his bare head, fingers stroking from his temples and down, seated spread over his ribcage, and he blames Nagini’s habit of curling up on him for not awakening sooner, keeping his eyes firmly up when he realises she’s wearing nothing but one of his shirts, hastily-buttoned, and what looks suspiciously like a pair of boxers.

§ _She’s been doing that for almost an hour now§_ Nagini hisses from somewhere beside him, lidded with relaxation and amusement. _§Maybe she thinks she can coax back your fur if she pets it insistently enough§_

Tom twitches, flicking a shot of electricity at his Familiar who only hisses in amusement, heavy coils shifting, muscles rising, gliding over the back of the girl who stills, glancing to the side as Nagini peers down at him from her left shoulder. _§You’re just sulky because you miss it§_

§ _Nagini…§_ he warns and then stills because magic – _familiar magic_ was creeping down the arms of the girl, thickening at the tips of her fingers as she carefully dragged them over the crown of his head, skin itching in the wake, his eyes widening, Nagini’s taking a startlingly owlish look on the girl’s shoulder.

§ _Soft§_ the girl hisses, petting the top of his head before slinking off him, padding over to her wardrobe and burrowing down in the nest there, closing the doors behind her as Wizard and Familiar stare after her in abject shock.

-

Tom stares at himself in the mirror – just as pale and angular as he’d been the day before but with dark brown hair where there had been none, edged with grey at the temples, creeping up and through it to give him, dare he say it, a rather distinguished look for all that he’d never be as handsome as Tom Riddle had been.

He reaches for the hair products Nagini had stolen from Lucius that morning, spreading it on his hands, dragging them through the strands and back from his face, closing his eyes at the feeling, a shuddering breath as he opens them up again, washing his hands in the sink and drying them off.

He dresses with care, choosing a dark purple shirt and rolling the cuffs to his elbows, a pair of dark slacks and fine shoes.

The girl watches him, doors to the wardrobe open, curled up with one of his shirts tugged against her chest like a plush toy, fingers stroking and tugging at one of the sleeve’s buttons.

He hesitates for a moment at the door, glancing back and fixating on the scar on her forehead, livid and just as fresh as it had been made just hours before despite the many years that had passed.

He had assumed it a mark of the prophecy – a twisted connection between them that wouldn’t fade until one of them died at the hands of the other. But the magic she had used the night before had carried traces of his own interwoven with hers, twisted so far up in each other that if he wasn’t so in tune with his magic he never would have been able to pick it out.

It shouldn’t be possible. Creating a horcrux demanded _intent_ – without intent it was just another death.

Had the backlash of magic, his own need for survival, triggered it? And if so – what was it doing to her and why now? And what did it mean for them and, in extension, the prophecy?

-

Tom is acutely aware of the way his followers watches him that day – the way they straighten up, a brush of legilimence informing them of their appreciation, their awe and an undercurrent of exhilaration as he stares over them at the meeting, closer to what he’d been since reclaiming his body three years earlier, a promise of refined elegance instead of violence.

There’s no mention of Harry Potter and the brush of confusion makes him aware of the obsession that lies thick and consuming inside of his chest, silenced from being voiced only because of the knowledge that she was already his, curled up in his clothes and asleep in his wardrobe like some strange creature.

He feels more like himself than he has in years, heady from the sight of himself in the mirror, a reminder of his hopes and wants – the rallying promises that had brought people willingly to their knees before him.

“My Lord,” Lucius says, lowering his head, a glimmer of pride in his eyes as he steps through the fire back into Malfoy Manor. “Dare I say you look rather handsome today?”

It’s the closest thing to prying Lucius will allow himself and Tom hums, dragging a hand over his hair, feeling the surprisingly soft hair beneath his palm. “Indeed,” he agrees, mouth twitching as his hand falls at his side. “Would you care to join me for a drink?”

Lucius gives him a long look before lowering his head, a smile on his lips. “It would be my pleasure, my Lord.”

-

The girl is asleep when he returns that night and Tom stares at her, barely visible in the low light, a hand on the wardrobe door as he lowers himself to a crouch.

She’s curled up in at least three of his cloaks, fingers twitching, brows creasing, lips moving as she dreams and he finds himself reaching out, stroking gently over her head until she relaxes, pulling the cloaks tighter around her before he straightens and softly closes the door back up.

He changes into a pair of sleeping pants and Nagini grudgingly makes room for him in the bed

§ _She made you smile today§_ Nagini hisses in sleepy observation. _§I haven’t seen you smile for years§_

Tom closes his eyes and strokes a hand down her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going back and forth on whether to make this gen or a pairing but I think I'm leaning more towards a pairing. Feel free to weigh-in!
> 
> I think I'm going to make this a three parter, maybe five at most? We'll see how it rolls.
> 
> I have never written things from Tom's POV like this so if you have any feedback it is greatly appreciated! He's an interesting character for sure and I am enjoying writing his interactions with this Harry.
> 
> I'm artsy-death on tumblr if you wanna swing by~


	2. Bits and Pieces

The first of September comes around and young Draco is returning to Hogwarts for his seventh year despite much debate between his parents who had been both adamantly against it.

Tom, who had long since decided that staying out of the business of his followers children were much better for his health, watches it all quietly – sipping his wine on the evening of the day before school start and making sure to avoid any eyes that tries to search catch his for some kind of opinion.

Severus had done the smart thing and escaped mid-way with a weak excuse of preparing for the school year (when the all knew he’d been done for weeks) and had just barely ducking both elder Malfoys doing something drastic like demanding an unbreakable bond for their sons safety.

Tom was not of the habit of marking children under eighteen without good reason and with young Draco returning to Hogwarts he had declined when the boy sought him out, away from his parent’s eyes.

Severus had been one of his few exceptions over the years – a mark of claim to use against his father, preventing the man from laying another hand on him.

Tom had never said as much to him but he strongly suspected Severus knew – he’d always been the clever sort, using what resources he had to rise through the ranks as a proud half-blood, one of the youngest potion masters in history, unchallenged.

“What about Potter?” Tom turns his attention to the happenings at hand, watching the way young Draco clenches his hands together in his lap, brow furrowing, mouth set in a stubborn line that demanded answers. “Is she returning too?”

“Ms Potter is remaining here,” Tom says mildly, watching with amusement as the young man pales drastically, evidently having forgotten he was there from the way he shrinks on himself.

 _Malfoys,_ Tom thinks to himself – remembering Abraxas Malfoy who’d been just as prone to putting his foot in his mouth, getting himself into increasingly stickier situation as they aged until he found himself in one he couldn’t get out of, dying young and leaving his wife to raise their son alone.

“Are you – are you going to kill her?” Draco dares to ask, not quite managing to get himself to raise his gaze but somehow getting the question to unstick from his mouth with dread deep enough that Tom doesn’t have to brush his mind to know what he’s thinking.

Lucius gives his son a warning squeeze of his shoulder but Tom is in an unusually good mood and he doesn’t even reach for his wand – watching him over the rim of his glass.

"No,” he admits, enjoying the wary confusion that blossom at his answer. “I am not.”

-

Tom is spending his evening in the company of Rabastan, who had been getting increasingly antsy at being stuck in the same house as his sister-in-law, when the girl decides to actually leave his room for the first time since arriving at the house. 

Narcissa would likely have been delighted at it but Rabastan stares blankly at the girl as she steps into the room, cloak dragging behind her, wearing two pair of button-ups in a mishmash of fabric, legs bare, mouth set in a stubborn sort of flat line as she ignores them both, crossing the room and continuing on towards the hallway and the stretch of corridors beyond it.

“… Either I’m hallucinating or the _missing_ Girl-Who-Lived just casually wandered by in your clothes,” Rabastan says faintly, watching the tail of her cloak disappearing around the corner.

“She’s staying here as a guest,” Tom says with a note of warning and Rabastan grimaces, the lines in his face twisting down in a rough sort of exhaustion.

Rodolphus hadn’t been able to cope with his wife’s mental decline, working himself into a mad sort of frenzy that Tom was wary to put an end to with the frantic staticness of his thoughts that kept looping into a dangerous sort of blame. He had sent him to work with Fenrir who wouldn’t hesitate to physically step in if the need arises but it did leave Rabastan to keep an eye on Bellatrix.

Tom stopped by when he could, as did Narcissa, but her times of lucidity were getting less and less frequent and they’d been forced to physically restrain her more than once.

Tom drums his fingers absently against the seat of the chair as Rabastan stares into his tea, the smudges beneath his eyes dark.

The Lestrange family was an old pureblood family that had largely stayed out of the war until Rabastan and Rodolphus, twins and the heirs of the family, had knelt at his feet upon their father’s death and one of them had dared to ask for the hand of his closest follower.

Bellatrix had been young then – eyes dark and glittering, a wild sort of freedom written in the broad stretch of her mouth. Rodolphus hadn’t been the first to ask but he had been the first to understand and accept that Bellatrix, even then, put her loyalty to him before anything else in her life.

The girl reappears, walking determinedly back the way she’d come with her arms filled with knick-knacks that looked suspiciously like something out of Lucius’ office, pausing in the doorway and angling back to look at Rabastan with eerie green eyes, head cocking to the side, as if listening to something.

She blinks, looks to his eyes and Tom raises a brow at her, watching as her nose flares and she does a strange little snap with her teeth before continuing on.

“… What happened to her?” Rabastan asks, frowning, and Tom isn’t surprised he’d picked up on it.

“She won’t say,” he admits.

Tom thinks about the potions that had been running thick through her system – Severus’ flat mouth and dark eyes as he scanned through the list of ingredients, trying to make sense of their intention, what they might have been, but unable to. _“Some of these should never been mixed together,”_ he’d said flatly. _“I am surprised she yet lives.”_

“How come she’s here?” Rabastan dares to ask, glancing in the direction she’d gone, as if waiting for her to reappear at her mention.

“She chose to come here, quite determinedly so.” Tom raises a hand, brushing back a stray curl of hair absently. “And she’s made it very clear she do not wish to leave.”

It does not answer why he hadn’t killed her but there were only three people in existence that were _supposed_ to know about his horcruxes.

He'd made the decision to absorb most of them back after learning about his Diary since it meant Albus had had his hands on it.

The old man had always been clever, after all. He didn’t doubt Albus knew exactly what it’d been and what it meant.

Which left Nagini and now the girl. It was still strange to consider and he is wary of its implications for Nagini had never been noticeably affected by his soul while the girl had used magic she shouldn’t have any access to.

Had someone found out? Had someone tried to utilize it? Remove it? He doesn’t know and the one with the answers isn’t speaking.

The girl appears again, peering around the corner, a chain grasped tight in her hand, something unsure and frustrated in the dip of her brow, teeth worrying at her lip, the ruby red stone catching and glittering where it spins lazily near her waist.

Rabastan carefully puts his tea aside to the table with a soft _click_ and Tom leans back with a note of curiosity as the girl fixates on him.

“Hello,” Rabastan says, voice rough but low and soothing in its cadence. “I don’t think we’ve met before. My name is Rabastan.”

She blinks at him.

“I know who you are of course.” Her hand raises automatically towards her scar and he gives her a wan smile. “Yes, Harry Potter – the Girl-Who-Lived.” She wrinkles her nose at the name, eyes narrowing. “But you’d prefer being just Harry, wouldn’t you?”

Her gaze shifts momentarily to Tom’s before sliding back.

Tom wonders if she’s aware of the way she’s shifting closer to the other man, drawn by his words and open body-language.

“I see you have a necklace there,” Rabastan notes and she draws it automatically closer to herself. “Is it yours?” A moment of hesitation and then a slow shake of her head. “That’s alright, it _is_ quite pretty, isn’t it?”

She gives it a dubious look and then abruptly shoves it forward, letting it go as Rabastan’s hand shoots out automatically to catch it before it can tumble to the floor.

He stares dumbly at it as the girl steps over to Tom, hand twisting into the sign she used to Nagini, fingers darting out like two fangs.

“She’s out hunting,” Tom informs her. “Did you need her for something?”

But she’s already turning away, trotting off with a huff of frustration.

Rabastan stares at the necklace – at the drop of red ruby in a web of silver. “This doesn’t look like anything Narcissa would wear,” he observes dubiously.

“No?” Tom peers at it. “Something of Bella’s?"

“Maybe.” Rabastan hesitates but then pockets it. “I guess I’ll ask.”

-

Tom finds his room in an artful sort of disarray that night. Knick-knacks spread about on the floor, everything from small figurines to expensive bottles and books, parchments smudged out with ink and her hands stained black.

She’s curled up in the middle of it, nails digging into her scalp, frustration knotting up her back, gaze fixed on a gathering of splotchy figures.

He carefully steps over one of Lucius bird figurines, taking care as he carefully crouches down before her.

She looks up at him, eyes wide and pleading for something he doesn’t understand or know how to give as he reaches out, prying her stiff fingers off and carefully lowering them down to her lap, keeping his grip gentle but firm.

“I know they did something to you,” he tells her. “I know that it had something to do with the horcrux in your scar and I know that what you are right now is because of it. That not everything is alright. And I understand that it’s frustrating but you are not alone.” She shivers as he raises one hand, brushing back a strand of black hair behind the round shell of her ear, laying his palm gently against her cheek.

It slides to the back of her neck when she pushes forward, pressing against his chest as he stills in place before he breathes out and sinks down fully, spreading his legs out to give space for her between them as she follows him, angling her ear against his chest as she curls into his arms.

She’s warm, angular and limber and it feels – good, to have her there, safe and not shying away from him, practically melting against him when most cautioned to meet his gaze.

He hesitates but then raises his hand, sliding his fingers down through her hair, working carefully through the snares and knots from lack of care until he could run his fingers smoothly through it and her eyes were lidding with a low noise of content as he scrapes his nails gently against her scalp.

It’s selfish.

Human contact is something rare. He shouldn’t want it but he does and there’s something heady in the desperation that had brought her to him – a baser instinctive response to being needed, a curl of satisfaction in the knowledge that Albus little saviour had come crawling to him.

He lowers his head, breathing in her scent, the lingering traces of ink hidden in the heady smell of human, sliding his hand down her scalp to the arch of her neck and down to grasp at her neck.

She stills briefly with a little stutter of her breath before smothering out to match with his when all he does is stroke his thumb gently over her throat.

Trust.

Undeserved but there for reasons he doesn’t understand. She who had been so careful to keep the space between them those first few days but now allowed him to hold her, to _comfort her._

He tightens his grip experimentally, just enough for her breathing to strain, and he feels the way her throat works as she swallows, but she doesn’t push away, doesn’t struggle, one hand coming up to rest loosely on his wrist without tugging at it.

He loosens his hold but she doesn’t remove her hand and he feels the way two of her fingers comes to rest on his pulse with a strange feeling twisting up inside his chest.

-

Tom finds himself waking up in the middle of the night more than once to listen to the pitter-patter of her feet as she paces.

Sometimes the bed dips near his feet as she curls up there, knees to her chest, her head tilted to watch the moon through the window, gaze distant and troubled.

More than once he wakes to a weight on his belly and finds her curled up beside him on top of the cover, using him as a pillow, cloak wrapped tight around her shoulder as she breathes softly.

On those nights she sleeps heavy and troubled, fingers twitching, eyes darting behind her eyelids, and he wonders what she dreams about.

He finds that as time passes the distance between them becomes something forgotten.

Evenings spent perusing books with Nagini are joined by a third as she drags her nest out of his wardrobe and determinedly shoves up at the feet of his chair, leaning her cheek against his knee, back towards him, hands fiddling restlessly, twitchy repetitive motions that doesn’t still until he clears his throat, reading quietly from whatever he has at hand.

There’s a caged restlessness to her – a frustration that grows and grows and grows as she struggles against her mind, against what had been done to her, and Tom knows it's only a matter of time before she tips over the edge.

-

Tom takes the last two steps two at a time at the sound of a crash, pushing the door open to a snarled hiss from Nagini, the scent of iron and the sight of the girl trapped in the coils of his Familiar, struggling with her teeth bared and blood stained scissors discarded on the ground, thick locks of black hair unevenly chopped off, drawing blood in places where frustration had clearly won over.

 _§Tom, make her behave!§_ Nagini hisses in frustration as the girl digs her nails into her scales, scrabbling to get out with venomous eyes and danger in every line of her body, the room shuddering with that strange and heady twist of her magic entwined with his, the air so thick with it he can almost taste it as he steps through the doorway and inhales sharply.

 _§What is going on here?§_ he asks as he draws his wand, furrowing his gaze as he swipes it through the air, stilling the rattling shelves as the girl heaves, feet finding purchase against the floor as she struggles against Nagini’s superior strength.

She really shouldn’t have been able to even budge her but Nagini was clearly fighting to keep her in place without crushing her, her thick coils rippling with tension and fangs flashing as the girl's blunt teeth struggled to find purchase there’d they’d sunk down.

The entire situation was ridiculous and Nagini’s furious indignation wasn’t helping.

 _§She was – mutilating herself§_ Nagini hisses in frustration, giving up and releasing the girl with a snap of her jaws as the girl tumbles ungracefully over herself from the sudden lack of force keeping her down, her chest heaving as she stumbles to her feet and Tom finds his amusement stolen away at the sight of her as she stares at him with her mouth twisted up, blood trailing down her skin.

Nagini wasn’t wrong.

It wasn’t just the hair – the girl had practically torn her skin open, the wounds dripping, nails digging into a particularly large one on her chest.

 _§It’s wrong§_ she bursts out and the sound of the language shared just between the two of them momentarily steals his breath away for he understands with a sudden clarity what he’s looking at.

Hair shorter on the sides, the curl to the new fringe, the clear distinction of her cheek bones, the jut of her jaw, his old school cloak around her shoulders, the faded patch of Salazar Slytherin’s house visible on her chest.

Seventeen – not much older than he’d been when he made his first horcrux, sealing the memory of himself with a piece of his soul.

_§Wrongwrongwrongwrongwron-§_

“You look like Tom Riddle,” he breathes out and she stills in place, mouth snapping shut, eyes meeting his, frustration slowly bleeding into a glaring sort of relief as she takes a step towards him. “The horcrux – they must have been attempting to do something with it... to use it! It must have latched onto you in an attempt to protect itself.” The realization slots into place with suspicions already nursed. “That’s why – a body isn’t made to keep more than one soul at the time.” She takes another step towards him. “A horcrux is dormant, it’s not supposed be activated until my death but now- no wonder you’re-“ The revelation is overwhelming and he finds himself sinking down on the edge of his bed, staring at her.

 _§Wrong_ § she repeats, almost hopefully.

“Wrong,” he agrees heavily. “I doubt this was the intended result,” he says a touch wryly, giving her a long look. “Humans were never meant to be horcruxes – even Nagini was pushing it but I am… fond of her.”

He rubs a hand over his eyes, mind working a mile a minute, trying to remember if there’d ever been a mention of a human horcrux in any of the notes or texts he’d read on the subject but – little existed about horcruxes, it was a particularly dreaded sort of magic, considered far worse than blood magic.

She sinks down to her knees before him, leaning her cheek against his leg.

 _§Wrong§_ she repeats and he finds himself reaching out, brushing a hand over her dark hair as she closes her eyes with a small relived smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to switch from three chapters to five because I realized the plot kinda grew a bit out of my hands and I want to incorporate something from Harry's POV eventually to sorta add to this and explore it from her side. I still haven't quite decided how but I have some ideas growing. 
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to explore this direction of horcruxes because the idea interests me and once I got thinking about the whole cause-and-effect of potentially housing another active soul my mind kinda spiraled from the original prompt a bit.
> 
> I now I have the entire science thing behind this worked down to the details.
> 
> So, uh, that's how things are hanging at the moment with this fic.
> 
> Your support has been amazing, makes it just that more fun to write and share :) all feedback is appreciated and feel free to just slide into the comments if you're curious about something.
> 
> Also, I'm artsy-death on tumblr if you're hanging around there~ ~~and I am very sorry if you were one of the five peeps who followed me because my phone freaked, deleted the entire thing, and I sorta had to make a new one but I am still there!~~


	3. Nocturnes

It is very hard _not_ to notice the changes with at least a semblance of understanding as to what was going on with her.

Tom helps her trim her hair into an echo of his seventeen-year-old self and it clearly eases something about the dissonance inside of her, head turning admiringly in the mirror, her wounds deftly cared for while Nagini lurked mulishly in the background.

The girl had never been tall but she had clearly gained in height since her arrival and her shoulders had gotten slightly broader, just enough to be visible as she pinned them back and her walk switched from that coltish curl to something sharp and rolling that demanded attention.

A body wasn’t supposed to house two souls and whoever had attempted to mess with the horcrux inside of her had instead wrecked with whatever careful equilibrium had been kept between the girl and the piece of him that had latched onto her at Halloween some sixteen years ago.

Tom isn't quite sure what to feel about it all, chin in the palm of his hand and a glass of wine in the other as the girl followed along at the heels of his clearly irate Familiar who’d long gotten fed-up by her shadow and was making a clear attempt at ditching her without much success.

He’d nearly had a heart attack when she’d apparated inside the walls of Malfoy Manor, tackling Nagini in a flurry of coils and limbs.

“They seem to be getting along,” Severus drawls, dark eyes upon girl and Familiar visible through the broad stretch of windows facing out to the yard where Nagini was currently making an escape attempt. “You called me?” He turns sharp eyes to Tom, arms folding up behind his back, patient – Severus had always been the sort of play the long game.

It was what made him such an excellent spy.

“The girl is a horcrux,” Tom informs him, watching with some amusement as Severus paused to digest the words with a crease of his brow. “Someone was foolish enough to attempt to mess with it and it’s currently haemorrhaging all over her mind.”

“Then her lack of speech-“

“Likely a side-effect of that, yes,” Tom agrees with hum. “A body isn’t meant to house two souls and we are only capable of handling and processing so much information at the same time. Having two souls with different wants and needs and expectations for everything down to the last details- it’s a wonder she’s functioning at all. Likely her mind has shut off as much as possible in an attempt to preserve her sanity with the side-effect of bringing her instincts down to the bare functionals.”

A mind couldn’t be shut off completely, however, and the frustration with herself was a side-effect of that. She was aware enough to point that something was _wrong_ but she didn’t have the mental faculties to solve it since they'd been shut down in an attempt to preserve her sanity.

“It does explain her sudden proficiency in wandless magic as well,” Severus muses and from the look in his eyes Tom suspected he was rather disturbed by the very prospect of it for all that he managed to look rather unruffled by the news.

“It does,” he agrees. “It also explains why her magic have bits of mine tangled through it and why I found her mutilating herself in an attempt to look more like me.”

Severus considers that, intelligent eyes watching the girl as she stopped beside Nagini, both of them peering into the shrubs.

“So we need to stabilize it somehow… Are you planning on absorbing it back into you?” Severus asks carefully, mind already awhirl with possibilities, fingers twitching subtly for pen and paper.

Tom watches the girl as she practically dives forward, disappearing into the bushes, Nagini this time the one to follow.

“The trouble is that I might not be able to,” he admits and Severus turns dark eyes upon him. “Horcruxes aren’t exactly widely studied but they were never meant for living creatures and my soul is currently leaking all over hers, changing her in ways that’s going to be following her for the rest of her life. Stopping it might be all we’re able to do.” A pause. “We won’t know for sure until we dive into her mind, however,” he acknowledges.

“We need something to calm her thoughts,” Severus says after a moment.

“You have something in mind?” Tom inquires.

Severus brow dips. “I might,” he says. “I would have to do some research but yes, I do believe I have something that would be able to aid us.”

“The sooner the better,” Tom cautions mildly and Severus inclines his head.

-

Tom stares at the dead mouse on his pillow, one end of the towel still half-raised to scrub at his hair, pyjamas loose around his waist.

The girl stares back at him, Nagini half-curled around her with visible amusement radiating off her for Nagini knew very well what Tom felt about the kind of presents she’d left him at the beginning of their partnership – before she’d been influenced by Tom’s magic to change into something cleverer, evolving and growing with him into something not quite like anything before her.

Albus had told him, once, that he wasn’t capable of love and if that is true that Tom isn’t quite sure what to name the feeling associated with her. Tom had found curiosity in the Basilisk inside the Chamber of Secret but Nagini is his Familiar, entrusted with a part of his soul.

“What,” he says carefully. “Is this?"

 _§She hunted for you§_ Nagini informs him with a twitch of her tail, golden eyes lurking with amusement. _§Took her the better part of the afternoon to get a grasp of it. You two-legged naked monkeys aren’t exactly made for fast paced hunting but she was patient, in the end§_

That really didn’t explain _why_ even if Tom could hazard a guess, taking a slow step forward, eyes following him.

Green – he had always admired that obstinate determination reflected in Avada Kedavra coloured eyes, enjoying the irony of them as she stared back at him, fourteen-years-old and bound against the grave of his muggle father.

The right one has been stained with burgundy that inched out from the darkness of her pupil, creeping to spill and stain what was. It was a colour he hadn’t seen in years – the vividness of his own red an old thing by now, a repercussion of claiming more power for himself.

It was strange to see that dipping mix of red and brown in another pair of eyes and he reaches out, slipping his fingers into short dark hair, clenching tight and tipping her head back as he covers the last distance between them, knees brushing together, his chest bare, water dripping from his hair and down it.

 _§What reason could you have to bring gifts to the likes of me?§_ he hisses, voice a soft murmur in the silence of the room. _§Are you thankful? Happy to find solace in your parent’s murderer?§_ He brushes a thumb against her temple, searching her eyes. _§What will I find in here?§_ he wonders, huffing as he loosens his grip and grasping to give her ear a little tug. _§Proud of yourself?§_

She tips her head and he stills as she reaches up, palm flattening against his skin and over his heart.

  _§_ _Tom§_ she hisses.

 _§_ _That is my name§_ he agrees. _§And your name is Harry Lily Potter, no matter what your mind is currently telling you§_ he informs her, brushing his hand over dark hair, watching the way her eyes lid. _§You are my enemy. You want me dead. You really shouldn’t be allowing this at all§_

 _§_ _What are you going to do with her?§_ Nagini hisses curiously, head resting on the girl’s shoulder, idly watching with those knowing golden eyes of hers. _§She carries a part of you, just like me, and I can’t see you willingly giving this up§_

Tom pauses.

  _§_ _Give what up?§_

Nagini’s tail flumps against the bed. _§You like touching her§_ his Familiar says. _§You like that she allows it. Wants it, even. She isn’t afraid of you§_

 _§_ _She’s becoming me§_ Tom tells her. _§It’s not the same thing as not being afraid§_

 _§_ _Isn’t it?§_ Nagini shifts, drawing up higher to put them closer eye-to-eye. _§You’re invested, Tom. You know how dangerous that can be§_

For Tom had asked Lily Potter to step out of the way instead of outright killing her because he had seen himself in a half-blood boy far too clever for his own good and it had cost him thirteen years of his life.

He steps back and green eyes open up to watch him with a noise of discontent as the petting stopped and he stares at her – at this curious creature meant to bring his end – knuckles pushing up against his skin and mouth twisting up as he turned on his heel and left the room.

Nagini coils tighter around the girl who smells like Tom and not, tongue flicking out to taste the aftermath of his magic, the static regret that came with caring more than he wanted to admit to.

  _§_ _Tom?§_ the girl repeats, an echoing question in the name that couldn’t quite be voiced. 

Nagini hisses, shifting to drag her down in wrap of heavy coils and growing limbs, body struggling to keep up with the changes, giving her an almost coltish look. _§He thinks too much§_ she complains to her only audience as she settles heavy on her chest to keep her down. _§And for all that he is clever he can also be very dumb§_

She flicks her tail, grudgingly settling as fingers stroked down her head in a near perfect echo of Tom.

-

Shifts only to snag the mouse for herself in a broad swallow that makes the girl smile as she curls tighter around her coils.

-

Tom steps through the gates of the Lestrange manor, waving away the wards that washes over him, frowning at the jaggedness of them as he steps down the gravel path, eyes drifting over the overgrown yard and the lack of colour, plants twisting black with death.

A witch or wizard’s home could tell a lot of the people living there – magic was a living thing, after all, reflecting the world around them.

Hogwarts was an excellent example- nearly alive, an entity of its own with its shifting staircases and secret rooms that even the Headmaster didn’t know about. It was influenced by the young magic of children, the playfulness of it, secrets and mischief taking actual life inside its walls.

Likewise the jaggedness of Bellatrix’s failing mental health and Rodolphus response to it didn’t leave much to admire, the tips of his fingers brushing against the tired petals of a pale rose, the carrying hope of Rabastan struggling to keep his brother and sister-in-law together.

The door opens wide for him as he steps up the stone staircase, one hand reaching to tug his scarf loose as he steps into the warmth, leaving the beginning of December coolness behind him with doors that close heavy and with finality behind him.

The mansion isn’t dusty, Rabastan would never allow it to fall so far, but there’s a discrepancy to it and his breath mists strangely despite the fact that it wasn’t cold around him, just… empty.

Tom steps up the stairs, letting his magic guide him deeper and deeper, down corridors where the rugs had been leeched of colour and the paintings remained eerily still, eyes empty, figures drawing back, quiet and wary.

Tom remembers Bellatrix as she had been – the seventeen-year-old who knelt before him in a flurry of skirts, a heady sort of loyalty even then in the dark and clever eyes that gazed upon him in awe, her magic curling around his as he reached his hand for her, drawing her up to her feet.

Clever, intent – Bellatrix had been something he had never quite witnessed before and he hadn’t liked seeing her down on her knees, she had deserved more, had _been_ more.

It had never been about romance or sex – their relationship had always been absent of such things, even if his followers thought elsehow. She had been beautiful, yes, and perhaps he would have allowed it had she asked it of him but she never had and she had married Rabastan agreeably enough.

Bellatrix was his second hand, beautiful in her violence and cleverness, capable of going toe-to-toe with even Albus in her twenties, grin sharp and wand snapping through the air with spell after spell in a mastery the world had seldom known.

Tom pushes the door open, leaning up against the doorframe as he watches her now.

Curled up on the floor, hair mattered and unwashed, bare wrists scratched raw – a jerky sort of twitchiness to her as she mumbles to herself, a brush of legilimence revealing the looping violence of her mind, unfocused, broken and scattered and beyond her – ruined by the years inside Azkaban where society had left her at the mercy of her own mind.

It had been a cruel injustice – dementor’s stationed and never moving from her cell, tormenting her day out and day in until screams turned into cackles and she frayed down at the edges, leaving but a shadow of herself behind.

“Bella.”

She jerks, twisting around, wildness in her gaze, her mind scrambling, grasping, not quite making sense of the sight of him and Tom takes a slow and cautious step forward, watching the way her shoulders curl, lips pulling back unsurely, mind an echo of emptiness and loss.

“My Lord?” the words are whispered, unsure, dark eyes large and too wide, cheeks sunken and skin sallow.

He crouches down before her and she reaches a trembling hand for him, brushing over his cheek, his forehead, following the silver in his hair, disbelief and unsurety warring inside of her, awe climbing in the darkness of her eyes, something not quite as jagged as the last time he’d visited.

Her magic brushes against his and he allows it, entwining it in turn, and she draws a shuddering breath.

 _How is this fair?_ Tom wonders as he brushes his fingers through her hair, undoing the knots with careful consideration. _How is this justice?_

The Ministry is corrupt, Hogwarts led by a fool and the girl meant to bring his end was looking more and more like the Tom Riddle that had been, her very being erased in the aftermath of the violence brought upon her where she was supposed to be safe away from him.

Only to find safety with him.

Bellatrix is losing grasp of reality and she is losing it fast – it had been weeks since he deemed her mentally aware enough to send her out on a raid and he had done it with Narcissa and Lucius both at her back.

To see such a beautiful mind fracturing was a horrible thing to witness.

“My Lord?”

“I am here,” he acknowledges, voice low and smooth as he draws and tucks strands of darkness behind her ear, away from her face, knowing it was quite futile but not quite able to help himself. “It’s the beginning of December,” he tells her. “Rabastan is visiting Rodolphus but he will be back later tonight.”

Her eyelids flutter and she turns away from him, fingers curling and uncurling around something in her grasp, silver and red glinting between her fingers as they twist and shift around it.

“What have you got there?” Tom inquiries and her hands still before opening, revealing the necklace the girl had dropped into Rabastan’s hands during his visit. “It was yours then?” he muses.

“No,” Bellatrix denies. “Wasn’t. Is.” She traps it in her hands, a strange look in her eyes. “Rabastan gave it to me this morning.”

“He must have forgotten about it then,” Tom says thoughtfully, considering it, the way Bellatrix seems unwilling to relinquish it, something distant in her gaze. “Do you want help putting it on?”

“To wear it?” Her eyebrows crease. “Yes. I think – yes. That would be for the best.”

She relinquishes it willingly enough but her gaze never leaves it, not for a second, her hand coming to press against the red stone netted in a web of silver as he leans forward to slip it around her neck and secure it at the back, her shoulders sinking down, eyes heavy and lidded as he shifts back from her.

She tucks it down her collar, hiding it from sight and allowing it to settle flush against her skin.

A part of him expects something from it – another knows better than to cling to empty hope. 

“Will you play for me?” Bellatrix asks him and Tom glances towards the piano at the corner of the room, straightening up, dark eyes following him as he crossed the distance and settled into the seat, gently lifting the lid up to reveal the row of white and black keys.

“Any requests?” he asks, fingers brushing against familiar texture.

“Nocturnes,” Bellatrix murmurs, drawing her knees to her chest. “Op. 9: No 2.”

Tom pauses and then he closes his eyes and he plays. 

-

Severus watches absently as his Lord guides the girl down onto the chair in the middle of the room, something twisting up inside of him at the visible changes that had erased the startling similarity to her father but had also stolen the green of her right eye entirely, leaving her in a strange duality between the two souls inside of her.

 _What have you done, Albus?_ he wonders, not for the first time. It had been nearly three months since she’d turned up in Malfoy Manor and as far as the world was concerned the girl had been stolen away to undergo secret training to defeat the Dark Lord, even the Order cast under the shadow of the lie.

Or, at least those who weren’t trusted enough to know.

Severus isn’t sure when that had come to include himself but it’s a shift he’s wary of because Albus had never hesitated to bring him in to do the dirty work most refused and whatever had been done to her had been beyond cruel.

 _Messing with magic beyond your understanding,_ Severus thinks as he uncorks the potion he’d brewed many years ago to soothe the anxiety of the children who came pounding on his door in the middle of the night, many from families who cared little and who left no visible traces on their bodies, only in their minds. _Is there no end to your foolishness, Albus?_

One of the first batches he’d made had left his mind painfully slowed, almost as if wading through something thick and syrupy. He had adjusted it since but a bit of digging had revealed the notes tracing back from the first attempt and it would, hopefully, slow the chaotic mess of her mind and give them a chance to find her in the middle of it.

 _At least that is the hope,_ Severus thinks a bit grimly. _Who knows how much still remains of her._

The thought gnaws because this was Lily’s child – the daughter she’d sacrificed everything for to give her a chance at life.

Lily’s child who had been made a horcrux on the eve of her mother’s death.

Digging through the Malfoy library had revealed nothing on the subject which meant that other than the gathering of notes the Dark Lord had written down himself on the subject there were little to be read about it.

Soul magic was a deeply taboo thing – considered far worse than blood magic which already carried a heavy stigma despite the good it was capable of.

 _Good and evil are nothing but notions of children_ , Severus thinks with some derision.

Severus hands the potion to the Dark Lord who rests a hand on Potter’s shoulder, near her neck, the other curled around the bottle as he guides it to her lips, burgundy and green watching him intently even as she swallows it down, mouthful after mouthful.

His eyes lingers on the way the Dark Lord squeezes her shoulders before stepping back, her fingers curling around the seat of the chair, looking a bit lost and unsure in the middle of it but remaining in place because his Lord had told her to.

 _There’s trust there,_ Severus thinks, not quite sure what to feel about that.

Potter’s eyes flickers, her mouth turning down, shoulders loosening and threatening to send her tipping right off if not for the ropes that gently circles around her to a confused noise, panic rising and then drowned out by the potion running through her system and behind the Dark Lord Nagini shifts, golden eyes intent on the girl.

 _“Tom.”_ The name comes out thick and helpless, a low whine following and she shakes her head, as if to get rid of the heaviness making thick sludge of her thoughts.

The Dark Lord draws his wand and Severus follows, magic rising thickly through the air and he steels his mind.

_“Legilimence.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so soft for Bellatrix and Tom's relationship. 
> 
> I also spent way too much time tracking down this damn song down because I couldn't remember who played it. Of course it was Chopin, I don't know why I was looking at anyone else in the first place. 
> 
> I wanted something elegant, the sort of music one can imagine accompanied by rain falling outside.
> 
> At least that's what it brings to mind when I hear it. I was contemplating Vivaldi Variations or Premiére Gymnopédie so if you aren't a fan of Chopin I warmly recommend them in its place.
> 
> I am way sorry this is a bit late - I was thinking about what to do with the next chapter and didn't dare to post this until I knew I had the plot layered correctly for it. Which I did. So here we are! 
> 
> Artsy-death on tumblr if you want to swing by and say hello~ I'll get back to your comments as well but I have some 12 hours of work tomorrow so time to sleep for me, heh.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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